It writhed free. Its reptile-like jaws grinned at him. Then the Ardazirho closed in.
XII
Most of the year, Vixen’s northern half was simply desert, swamp, or prairie, where a quick vegetative life sprang up and animals that had been estivating crept from their burrows. The arctic even knew snow, when winter-long night had fallen. But in summer the snows melted to wild rivers, the rivers overflowed and became lakes, the lakes baked dry. Storms raged about the equator and into the southern hemisphere, as water precipitated again in cooler parts. Except for small seas dreary amidst salt flats, the north blistered arid. Fires broke loose, the pampas became barren again in a few red days. Under such erosive conditions, this land had no mountains. Most of it was plain, where dust and ash scoured on a furnace wind. In some places rose gnarled ranges, lifeless hills, twisted crags, arroyos carved by flash floods into huge earth scars.
The Ardazirho had established their headquarters in such a region, a little below the arctic circle. Thousands of lethal kilometers made it safe from human ground attack; the broken country was camouflage and protection from spaceships. Not that they tried to conceal their fortress absolutely. That would have been impossible. But it burrowed deep into the range and offered few specific targets.
Here and there Flandry saw a warship sitting insolently in the open, a missile emplacement, a detector station, a lookout tower black and lean against the blinding sky. Outer walls twisted through gullies and over naked ridges; Ardazirho sentries paced them, untroubled by dry cruel heat, blue-white hell-glare, pouring ultraviolet radiation. But mostly, the fortress went inside the hills, long vaulted tunnels where boots clashed and voices echoed from room to den-like room. Construction had followed standard dig-in methods: prodigal use of atomic energy to fuse the living rock into desired patterns, then swift robotic installation of the necessary mechanisms. But the layout was rougher, more tortuous, less private, than man or Merseian would have liked. The ancestral Ardazirho had laired in caves and hunted in packs.
Flandry was hustled into a small room equipped as a laboratory. A pair of warriors clamped him in place. A grizzled technician began to prepare instruments.
Often, in the next day or two, Flandry screamed. He couldn’t help it. Electronic learning should not go that fast. But finally, sick and shaking, he could growl the Urdahu language. Indeed, he thought, the Ardazirho had been thoroughly briefed. They understood the human nervous system so well that they could stamp a new linguistic pattern on it in mere hours, and not drive the owner insane.
Not quite.
Flandry was led down endless booming halls. Their brilliant bluish fluorescence hurt his eyes; he must needs squint. Even so, he watched what passed. It might be a truckload of ammunition, driven at crazy speed by a warrior who yelped curses at foot traffic. Or it might be a roomful of naked red-furred shapes: sprawled in snarling, quarrelsome fellowship; gambling with tetrahedral dice for stakes up to a year’s slavery; watching a wrestling match which employed teeth and nails; testing nerve by standing up in turn against a wall while the rest threw axes. Or it might be a sort of chapel, where a single scarred fighter wallowed in pungent leaves before a great burning wheel. Or it might be a mess hall and a troop lying on fur rugs, bolting raw meat and howling in chorus with one who danced on a monstrous drumhead.
The man came at last to an office. This was also an artificial cave, thick straw on the floor, gloom in the corners, a thin stream of water running down a groove in one wall. A big Ardazirho lay prone on a hairy dais, lifted on both elbows to a slanting desktop. He wore only a skirt of leather strips, a crooked knife and a very modern blaster. But the telescreen and intercom before him were also new, and Flandry’s guards touched their black noses in his presence.
“Go,” he said in the Urdahu. “Wait outside.” The guards obeyed. He nodded at Flandry. “Be seated, if you wish.”
The human lowered himself. He was still weak from what he had undergone, filthy, ill-fed, and ragged. Automatically he smoothed back his hair, and thanked human laziness for its invention of long-lasting antibeard enzyme. He needed such morale factors.
His aching muscles grew tight. Things were in motion again. “I am Svantozik of the Janneer Ya,” said the rough voice. “I am told that you are Captain Dominic Flandry of Terran Naval Intelligence. You may consider my status approximately the same.”
“As one colleague to another,” husked Flandry, “will you give me a drink?”
“By all means.” Svantozik gestured to the artesian stream. Flandry threw him a reproachful look, but needed other things too badly to elaborate. “It would be a kindly deed, and one meriting my gratitude, if you provided me at once with dark lenses and cigarets.” The last word was perforce Anglic. He managed a grin. “Later I will tell you what further courtesies ought to be customary.”
Svantozik barked laughter. “I expected your eyes would suffer,” he said. “Here.” He reached in the desk and tossed over a pair of green polarite goggles, doubtless taken off a Vixenite casualty. Flandry put them on and whistled relief. “Tobacco is forbidden,” added Svantozik. “Only a species with half-dead scent organs could endure it.”
“Oh, well. There was no harm in asking.” Flandry hugged his knees and leaned back against the cave wall.
“None. Now, I wish to congratulate you on your daring exploits.” Svantozik’s smile looked alarming enough, but it seemed friendly. “We searched for your vessel, but it must have escaped the planet.”
“Thanks,” said Flandry, quite sincerely. “I was afraid you would have gotten there in time to blast it.” He cocked his head. “In return … see here, my friend [literally: croucher-in-my-blind], when dealing with my species, it is usually better to discourage them. You should have claimed you had caught my boat before it could escape, manufacturing false evidence if necessary to convince me. That would make me much more liable to yield my will to yours.”
“Oh, indeed?” Svantozik pricked up his ears. “Now among the Black People, the effect would be just opposite. Good news tends to relax us, make us grateful and amenable to its bearer. Bad tidings raise the quotient of defiance.”
“Well, of course it is not that simple,” said Flandry. “In breaking down the resistance of a man, the commonest technique is to chivvy him for a protracted time, and then halt the process, speak kindly to him — preferably, get someone else to do that.”
“Ah.” Svantozik drooped lids over his cold eyes. “Are you not being unwise in telling me this — if it is true?”
“It is textbook truth,” said Flandry, “as I am sure whatever race has instructed you in the facts about Terra’s Empire will confirm. I am revealing no secret. But as you must be aware, textbooks have little value in practical matters. There is always the subtlety of the individual, which eludes anything except direct intuition based on wide, intimate experience. And you, being nonhuman, cannot ever have such an experience of men.”
“True.” The long head nodded. “In fact, I remember now reading somewhat of the human trait you mention … but there was so much else to learn, prior to the Great Hunt we are now on, that it had slipped my memory. So you tantalize me with a fact I could use — if I were on your side!” A sudden deep chuckle cracked in the ruffed throat. “I like you, Captain, the Sky Cave eat me if I do not.”
Flandry smiled back. “We could have fun. But what are your intentions toward me now?”
“To learn what I can. For example, whether or not you were concerned in the murder of four warriors in Garth and the abduction of a fifth, not long ago. The informant who led us to you has used hysterics — real or simulated — to escape detailed questioning so far. Since the captured Ardazirho was a Clan-master, and therefore possessed of valuable information, I suspect you had a hand in this.”
“I swear upon the Golden Ass of Apuleius I did not.”
“What is that?”
“One of our most revered books.”
“ ‘The Powers only hunt at night,’ ” quoted Svant
ozik. “In other words, oaths are cheap. I personally do not wish to hurt you unduly, being skeptical of the value of torture anyhow. And I know that officers like you are immunized to the so-called truth sera. Therefore, reconditioning would be necessary: a long, tedious process, the answers stale when finally you wanted to give them, and you of little further value to us or yourself.” He shrugged. “But I am going back to Ardazir before long, to report and wait reassignment. I know who will succeed me here: an officer quite anxious to practice some of the techniques which we have been told are effective on Terrans. I recommend you cooperate with me instead.”
This must be one of their crack field operatives, thought Flandry, growing cold. He did the basic Intelligence work on Vixen. Now, with Vixen in hand, he’ll be sent to do the same job when the next Terran planet is attacked. Which will be soon!
Flandry slumped. “Very well,” he said in a dull tone. “I captured Temulak.”
“Ha!” Svantozik crouched all-fours on the dais. The fur stood up along his spine, the iron-colored eyes burned. “Where is he now?”
“I do not know. As a precaution, I had him moved elsewhere, and did not inquire the place.”
“Wise.” Svantozik relaxed. “What did you get from him?”
“Nothing. He did not crack.”
Svantozik stared at Flandry. “I doubt that,” he said. “Not that I scorn Temulak — a brave one — but you are an extraordinary specimen of a civilization older and more learned than mine. It would be strange if you had not—”
Flandry sat up straight. His laughter barked harsh. “Extraordinary?” he cried bitterly. “I suppose so … the way I allowed myself to be caught like a cub!”
“ ‘No ground is free of possible pits,’ ” murmured Svantozik. He brooded a while. Presently: “Why did the female betray you? She went to our headquarters, declared you were a Terran agent, and led our warriors to your meeting place. What had she to gain?”
“I don’t know,” groaned Flandry. “What difference does it make? She is wholly yours now, you know. The very fact she aided you once gives you the power to make her do it again — lest you denounce her to her own people.” Svantozik nodded, grinning. “What do her original motives matter?” The man sagged back and picked at the straw.
“I am interested,” said Svantozik. “Perhaps the same process may work again, on other humans.”
“No.” Flandry shook his head in a stunned way. “This was personal. I suppose she thought I had betrayed her first — Why am I telling you this?”
“I have been informed that you Terrans often have strong feelings about individuals of the opposite sex,” said Svantozik. “I was told it will occasionally drive you to desperate, meaningless acts.”
Flandry passed a tired hand across his brow. “Forget it,” he mumbled. “Just be kind to her. You can do that much, can you not?”
“As a matter of fact—” Svantozik broke off. He sat for a moment, staring at emptiness.
“Great unborn planets!” he whispered.
“What?” Flandry didn’t look up.
“No matter,” said Svantozik hasitly. “Ah, am I right in assuming there was a reciprocal affection on your part?”
“It is no concern of yours!” Flandry sat up and shouted it. “I will hear no more! Say what else you will, but keep your filthy snout out of my own life!”
“So,” breathed Svantozik. “Yes-s-s-s … Well, then, let us discuss other things.”
He hammered at Flandry a while, not with quite the ruthlessness the human had shown Temulak. Indeed, he revealed a kind of chivalry: there was respect, fellow feeling, even an acrid liking in him for this man whose soul he hunted. Once or twice Flandry managed to divert the conversation — they spoke briefly of alcoholic drinks and riding animals; they traded some improper jokes, similar in both cultures.
Nevertheless, Svantozik hunted. It was a rough few hours.
At last Flandry was taken away. He was too worn to notice very much, but the route did seem devious. He was finally pushed into a room, not unlike Svantozik’s office, save that it had human-type furniture and illumination. The door clashed behind him.
Kit stood waiting.
XIII
For a moment he thought she would scream. Then, very quickly, her eyes closed. She opened them again. They remained dry, as if all her tears had been spent. She took a step toward him.
“Oh, God, Kit,” he croaked.
Her arms closed about his neck. He held her to him. His own gaze flickered around the room, until it found a small human-made box with a few controls which he recognized. He nodded to himself, ever so faintly, and drew an uneven breath. But he was still uncertain.
“Dominic, darlin’—” Kit’s mouth sought his.
He stumbled to the bunk, sat down and covered his face. “Don’t,” he whispered. “I can’t take much more.”
The girl sat clown beside him. She laid her head on his shoulder. He felt how she trembled. But the words came in glorious anticlimax: “That debuggin’ unit is perfectly good, Dominic.”
He wanted to lean back and shout with sudden uproarious mirth. He wanted to kick his heels and thumb his nose and turn handsprings across the cell. But he held himself in, letting only a rip of laughter come from lips which he hid against her cheek.
He had more than half expected Svantozik to provide a bugscrambler. Only with the sure knowledge that any listening devices were being negated by electronic and sound-wave interference, would even a cadet of Intelligence relax and speak freely. He suspected, though, that a hidden lens was conveying a silent image. They could talk, but both of them must continue to pantomime.
“How’s it been, Kit?” he asked. “Rough?”
She nodded, not play-acting her misery at all. “But I haven’t had to give any names,” she gulped. “Not yet.”
“Let’s hope you don’t,” said Flandry.
He had told her in the hurricane cellar — how many centuries ago? … “This is picayune stuff. I’m not doing what any competent undercover agent couldn’t: what a score of Walton’s men will be trying as soon as they can be smuggled here. I’ve something crazier in mind. Quite likely it’ll kill us, but then again it might strike a blow worth whole fleets. Are you game, kid? It means the risk of death, or torture, or lifelong slavery on a foreign planet. What you’ll find worst, though, is the risk of having to sell out your own comrades, name them to the enemy, so he will keep confidence in you. Are you brave enough to sacrifice twenty lives for a world? I believe you are — but it’s as cruel a thing as I could ask of any living creature.”
“They brought me straight here,” said Kit, holding him. “I don’t think they know quite what to make o’ me. A few minutes ago, one o’ them came hotfootin’ here with the scrambler an’ orders for me to treat you … ” a slow flush went over her face, ” … kindly. To get information from you, if I could, by any means that seemed usable.”
Flandry waved a fist in melodramatic despair, while out of a contorted face his tone came levelly: “I expected something like this. I led Svantozik, the local snooper-in-chief, to think that gentle treatment from one of my own species, after a hard grilling from him, might break me down. Especially if you were the one in question. Svantozik isn’t stupid at all, but he’s dealing with an alien race, us, whose psychology he knows mainly from sketchy second-hand accounts. I’ve an advantage: the Ardazirho are new to me, but I’ve spent a lifetime dealing with all shapes and sizes of other species. Already I see what the Ardazirho have in common with several peoples whom I hornswoggled in the past.”
The girl bit her lip to hold it steady. She looked around the stone-walled room, and he knew she thought of kilometers of tunnel, ramparts and guns, wolfish hunters, and the desert beyond where men could not live. Her words fell thin and frightened: “What are we goin’ to do now, Dominic? You never told me what you planned.”
“Because I didn’t know,” he replied. “Once here, I’d have to play by ear. Fortunately, my confidence in
my own ability to land on my feet approaches pure conceit, or would if I had any faults. We’re not doing badly, Kit. I’ve learned their principal language, and you’ve been smuggled into their ranks.”
“They don’t trust me yet.”
“No. I didn’t expect they would — very much … But let’s carry on our visual performance. I wouldn’t flip-flop over to the enemy side just because you’re here, Kit; but when I am badly shaken, I lose discretion and ordinary carefulness. Svantozik will accept that.”
He gathered her back to him. She responded hungrily. He felt so much of himself return to his abused being, that his brain began to spark, throwing up schemes and inspecting them, discarding them and generating new ones, like a pyrotechnic display, like merry hell.
He said at last, while she quivered on his lap: “I think I have a notion. We’ll have to play things as they lie, and prearrange a few signals, but here’s what we’ll try for.” He felt her stiffen in his embrace. “Why, what’s the matter?”
She asked, low and bitter: “Were you thinkin’ o’ your work all the time — just now?”
“Not that alone.” He permitted himself the briefest grin. “Or, rather, I enjoyed my work immensely.”
“But still — Oh, never mind. Go on.” She slumped.
Flandry scowled. But he dared not stop for side issues. He said: “Tell Svantozik, or whoever deals with you, that you played remorseful in my presence, but actually you hate my inwards, and my outwards too, because — uh—”
“Judith!” she snarled.
He had the grace to blush. “I suppose that’s as plausible a reason as any, at least in Ardazirho eyes.”
Agent of the Terran Empire df-5 Page 17
